


Good Omens

by Banana_daiquiri



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Explicit Sex, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Party, Sexual Tension, Smut, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:26:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5174522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banana_daiquiri/pseuds/Banana_daiquiri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor finally decides to attend that wedding he's been putting off for ages, but he gets more than he bargained for with all those feel-good vibes. Strictly chicken or fish, no aphrodisiacs, please.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Omens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tenscupcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenscupcake/gifts).



> Okay so I don't think there are any non-con elements in here. This is an aphrodisiac fic, but as you'll see, it doesn't exactly take the traditional route. I also tried to make it apparent throughout how these characters feel for each other, aphrodisiac or no. But if I come to find that any reader is uncomfortable with this, I will put a stronger warning on it. As always, tread carefully if you have triggers, please. Safe reading! <3

***

Marvenka's wedding was fantastic. The Doctor was almost sorry that he'd been putting off coming for 550 years. In fact he'd forgotten all about it, and may always have done if not for Rose's sudden insistence that the unofficial human custom of "spring cleaning" was necessary (she'd been this way ever since they'd been to the feng shui planet--somehow he'd known that trip was going to be a mistake). He had stumbled across the dusty invitation in his dusty desk drawer (how there could be room for all that dust was a mystery; he'd thought that by stuffing the drawer past its capacity he was ensuring there would be no room left for dust to sneak in) and had decided that the time to attend had arrived. It was just as good an excuse as any for a celebration. Bonus points for exposing Rose to a culture she hadn't yet witnessed. 

Besides, he enjoyed parties himself. The only reason he'd put off attending this one for so long was that his ninth incarnation had a hard time tolerating Marvenka's personality. Over cocktails he was beginning to understand why, even though he found her delightful now. Every time he laughed at something witty she said, he felt a bit like he was poking his tongue out at his past self. It was childish and therefore it was privately very amusing.

She had her hand on his arm. It had been there for forty-five minutes, as though she was forbidding him from leaving until her story was finished. He was nodding, hanging on her every word. _Neener neener, me._

"...after the Dagwort spit Geoffry's shoe into the prince of New Caledonia's eye, the irony of which you can now appreciate, Orntha and I decided it may be time to each put a fopi in our shoe and beat it. So to speak. But that was before the explosion. OOH that reminds me...the Rianda's inconveniently placed tentacle--"

she went on and on and on, and all the time the Doctor's eyes were wide, and he nodded and laughed in all the right places. Finally the tale wound down to its conclusion, which was strangely abrupt and essentially amounted to someone's cat being declared the creator of all things. The Doctor was about to argue the validity of this claim (a cat, really! Ever since those cats in wimples, this sort of thinking never stopped) when Orntha interrupted them by excitedly thrusting a bouquet of flowers over her bride's shoulder, right under their noses. 

Marvenka's eyes widened. "Is it time for that already?" She took the bouquet and turned to look at her bride with a starry smile. "All right." She turned back to the Doctor just as Rose joined them with her third cup of punch. (The Doctor knew her well enough to know that she was more on par with his ninth self in regard to Marvenka; she was trying hard to work up a nice buzz, all the better to follow the never-ending story with. Never-ending story. There was a nice movie irony or pun in there somewhere. He'd work it out later.)

"This," Marvenka said proudly, "is a tradition for the after-ceremony. A little parting gift. We'll have cake and a bit more ceremony, and then you two go back to your ship--but don't forget to display these in your rooms as a token of our friendship!"

The Doctor graciously accepted his flower, twirling it by its stem and examining it, and Rose smiled politely as she was handed hers. She was no doubt thrilled that Marvenka's story was over. The Doctor felt a bit guilty that he'd almost lost track of time (a sure sign that he was enjoying himself). His human companion did not share his endurance. He watched her receive her gift, then bent to her with what he hoped was a winning smile, lending her his elbow as a peace offering. She took it, her answering smile tired but genuine.

As he tucked the full purple bloom into his pocket, it struck him again how lovely Rose was today. She'd chosen a green dress with a modest neckline and paired it with nude heels. Her hair was piled up on the back of her head, a few curly wisps springing loose around her face. Her makeup was more natural, her ordinarily spidery lashes coated with only a thin application of mascara, her eyeliner thin enough not to overpower how stunning her hazel eyes were.

Well, not stunning. Not stunning, just, lovely--lovely and feminine, as any aspect of a healthy young female companion should be. A human companion, one shouldn't forget that part.

She noticed him staring at the precise moment that he realized he was ogling her and trying to pinpoint exactly where his thinking had gone wrong. "You all right, Doctor?"

As he scrambled to compensate for his embarrassment, he could feel that his answering smile was a smidge too wide . "Oh, just spiffy. Wonderful, even. Spiffalicious. Wait? No. No, I'm not using that one again. Ever. Rose Tyler, if we have crossed the boundary of forever and I have never used that word again, it will not be long enough. Remember to remind me."

She was giggling. "All right, Doctor. Understood."

"It's your job, as my companion, to make certain that I never use that word again."

"Which word?"

"Spiffa--oh." He wagged his finger, and his eyebrows, at her. "Nice try. Nice try, but I'm too sharp."

"Too clever for your own good."

"That's me. There's no more room up here--" he tapped his forehead-- "for me to be any more clever. That's why I need you. You're like my...external hard drive."

"Oh, that's what I am, am I?"

They headed into the reception area and located their table in short order, taking their assigned seating spaces. They clapped at the appropriate volume when the newly married couple performed their ritual tea ceremony, and then the tea and wedding cake were served to all.

"It's so pretty I almost don't want to eat it," Rose crooned over her dessert. The white cake had been intricately pattered with real flower petals, some type that resembled those of violets. "You know," she said, pausing with her spoon in her hand, "what I find strange is how much these ceremonies have in common with the ones on Earth. I think that's more interestin' than the differences. Don't you?"

He nodded enthusiastically, wanting to be witty but far too busy enjoying his cake. He had no such qualms about holding off on eating something due to its aesthetically pleasing nature.

"You look very dapper today, by the way," Rose said, smiling a funny little smile he couldn't quite place. Wait. No, no, he knew this one...she was getting a melty look.

_She was flirting with him._

....Come to think of it, they'd sort of been exchanging looks like this all day long. Across the dance floor earlier when she'd been talking to a man at the punch bowl and had glanced over to catch the Doctor's eyes fixed on her thoughtfully, he hadn't looked away, hadn't smiled. He'd just gone on and on looking at her until she blushed. Then he smiled, just slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

They were lingering in dangerous territory, he realized. And now this look she was giving him.

The Doctor abruptly spit his tea back into his mug. "Ooh--hot, that's very hot, careful there," he sputtered. "Hottity-hot-hot."

Rose's eyebrows drew together as she sipped her own. "Actually, I think it's perfect."

"Really?" He scratched the back of his neck. "My temperature gauges must be off."

She was giving him a very odd look. "Your...gauges?"

"You know," he said, flustered. "Time Lord..." he swallowed, considering his phrasing as he regarded the ceiling, "biology."

"Temperature gauges," she muttered to herself, looking around. He saw her reach some conclusion and shrug a private shrug to herself.

***

Orntha was a terrible public speaker, and she knew it, she explained. Which was why she was doing it--it fell in line with the spirit of the next (and close to last) part of the ceremony: swapping truths. This, Orntha explained haltingly, stuttering and blushing under all the eyes fixed on her, was a wedding tradition where the attendees were encouraged to select someone with whom to dance, someone they would disclose a truth to: something they would never reveal in an everyday context. It was a celebration of intimacy, of opening up. This sharing was considered a good omen for the future of the newlyweds.

Rose wondered if the Doctor'd had any clue this would be taking place; it seemed like something that would make him start searching for the nearest can of gasoline to set himself on fire with. She glanced sidelong at him and saw the telltale open mouth, the panicked eyes fixed on Orntha. Nope. He hadn't known.

He seemed to feel her glance, and his eyes flickered briefly to hers. Both of them turned a bit pink and looked away. Rose plucked the napkin that was still on her lap. "So," she murmured awkwardly. "Fancy a dance?" she laughed nervously.

The Doctor pursed his lips and made a little raspberryish noise, as though the idea hadn't ever occurred to him. At least since his Ninth incarnation. "Oh, I dunno," he said nonchalantly. "That man you were talking with earlier seemed quite taken with you. Perhaps he'd like--?" he paused when their eyes met again and he could read the hurt in her gaze.

"I don't want to be rude to them, Doctor," she said, "but I can't see opening myself up to anyone but you. And anyway..." she shrugged casually, "I mean we could pretend...'s not like anyone's got a boom mic on us."

He smiled gently, wanting to smooth over the thorn he'd apparently just stuck in her side, and gallantly offered her his hand. He stood and boosted her up as the first strains of the song washed over them: Glenn Miller's "Moonlight Serenade." 

The Doctor clasped Rose's right hand with his left, his other hand settling in the curve of her waist as her free one went to his shoulder. As they began their slow dance they couldn't help but look at each other and giggle for some reason, as though this was yet another crazy space snafu they'd gotten into. The Doctor tugged Rose in a little closer against his chest so they could avoid prolonged eye contact; it felt a bit uncomfortable at the moment, a little too intense. Perhaps things didn't need to be awkward.

"So," Rose said after a few moments, her voice close to his ear, "tell me _everything_ , Doctor. The secrets of the universe."

He chuckled. "I wouldn't know where to begin." He hesitated, his smile faltering but not fading entirely. "I mean, I suppose I have a few of my own, but. I'm afraid those aren't terribly interesting."

Her hand squeezed his shoulder gently. "I'm interested," she said easily.

"Hmm." He sighed, but after a few moments he nodded. "Okay. I've got one. Though it _is_ embarrassing." His voice dropped, and he ducked his mouth closer to her ear to murmur, "Rose Tyler, you can never tell a soul."

She was grinning; he couldn't see it, but he _felt_ it, and heard it when she responded. "Promise."

He took a deep breath to brace himself, then came out with it, coughing to obscure his words, his eyes sweeping the room as though searching for a distraction. "I like domestics."

Rose leaned far back, grinning widely, her eyes sparkling. _"What?"_

He actually blushed. "Well I mean. Not all the time. I much prefer being on the go. But sometimes when we..." he looked like he was absolutely in pain, "when we pop 'round to the estate and stay for a few hours...sometimes, it's nice...staying still. Just for a bit." He finally met her eyes, and he wasn't smiling anymore, but regarding her seriously, his face so close to hers that she could have counted his freckles if she wished.

She wished. But she refrained. Instead, her hand momentarily tightened on his reflexively, and she had to swallow hard in order to be able to speak again. "Oh." She cleared her throat, trying to recover from the strange effect his words and that look on his face (vulnerable, anticipatory, nervous) were having on her. "I'm afraid my truth is probably not what you'd expect, though it's similar."

Outwardly the Doctor's brow furrowed softly in question, but inwardly he could feel his hearts turn into rocks and take a slow dive of dread into his stomach. Something in the back of his mind was already resigned, accepting what she was implying in a way that illuminated one pathetic fact for him, one he always knew but wouldn't acknowledge that he knew: he'd always been waiting for this.

"Staying still is nice...."

The Doctor was nodding, his expression carefully guarded.

" _Sometimes,_ " she elaborated, popping his bubble of drama. "But I don't think I could ever live that again...that...domestic life. Not after this. I want to keep traveling." She turned her head and looked away. "With you. I never want to stop."

He stared at her profile for a long moment. Rose could feel his heavy gaze, and tried to ignore the flush creeping over her cheeks and chest. She knew if she looked back at him, the moment would crumble and become a joke.

The Doctor tugged her in closer again and sniffed. "You always have to one-up me."

"What?" she asked, incredulous but giggling.

"No, anything I say, anywhere we go, it's got to be a contest," he said, sticking his nose in the air and shaking his head to indicate that she was absolutely impossible. "A man can hardly be impressive."

Rose surprised him by pulling her hand from his and circling her arms around his neck, grinning her tongue-touched grin. "Hardly. But somehow you still manage." Maybe joking wasn't so bad, after all. Default mode. Autopilot, even.

He circled both arms around her waist. "I do, don't I?"

"Mmm hmm." Rose tucked her head under his chin, smiling, and closed her eyes.

Their song had come to an end, and another had come and gone as well. There was a bustle about the room: dancers relinquished their partners, napkins were placed over plates, handbags were clutched; people were getting ready to leave.

The music had stopped, and their dance had turned into a hug. The Doctor nosed Rose's hair softly. "Think we had better be going."

She drew back with a put-upon sigh. "Fiiinnne. Every party's got to end."

"We might be able to go back in time and squash that idea before it gains popularity."

"Think?"

He nodded enthusiastically, offering her his elbow, which she took. "Oh, yes. Allons-y!"

***

They burst back into the TARDIS some time later, Rose a little buzzed from after-after-party cocktails (which hadn't sent them back in time or stopped the party from drawing to its inevitable conclusion, but which she seemed to enjoy all the same), the Doctor proud of himself for knowing the precise moment at which to cut out before his companion went overboard (either figuratively or literally--the ceremony had taken place on a boat) or plummeted to the floor from exhaustion. One did get used to traveling with human companions, but he tried not to brag.

He took his place at the console and casually flicked a couple of switches, loosening his tie. He glanced up when Rose fell silent, only to see her biting the tip of her tongue and assessing his slightly-more-casual look. She straightened a bit when she noticed he was yet again noticing her.

She jerked her thumb randomly over her shoulder. "Right. Off to bed, then."

He smiled. "Goodnight, Rose."

She came toward him and he--very subconsciously, which he hated himself for, as he was all about being conscious and not sub-anything--took a small step backward despite the fact that they had been dancing rather closely only about two hours prior, not to mention gracing each other with little touches ever since then as they'd mixed and mingled while staying attached at the hip. (But that was different. That was in public. Now they were in private and she was all...loosey-goosey. All warm and soft-bodied from the alcohol. Malleable. Like a metal? Okay, no, that wasn't terribly sexy. Bendy? No, definitely the wrong verb, and one that bordered on obscene. She was...pliant. That implies romance, right?) He forced himself to stay still as she threw her arms around his neck again and placed a little kiss--one that had surely been meant for his cheek--on the side of his neck. Her lips were very hot, which was odd, considering that the evening had been temperate. He half wondered if she was starting up a fever, and tried to stomp on the thought of the multitude of ways he could check her temperature.

He returned her hug cautiously, patting her back in a very platonic manner, not too heartily. He felt strange having her so near when she was all...groomed specifically, as she was. With the...hair and the classy makeup and the wedding-y-ness of things and the sharing of secrets and the fact that for the last couple of hours he'd felt more like a regular bloke than an aloof alien. 

"Goodnight, Doctor," she said, a little too breathily and a little too close to his ear, sending a shiver racing down his spine as her breath hit him just right and triggered some sort of chain reaction. Ear catches sound. Ear hairs carry sound. Cochlea receives the sound of Rose Tyler's breath, transmits it along the auditory nerve, tickles the brain, shivers the spine, affects blood flow and various appendages which then decide to rebel and need to be held in check. 

Held. That was poor phrasing. An unfortunate choice in word sequencing.

Anyway. The Doctor knew this scenario--it tended to happen whenever Rose had ingested some liquid courage and decided to toe the line between them. And, all right, he toed that same line sometimes too, whether his blood alcohol content was .03 or .0blood.

It was funny, though, that he had ingested very little alcohol this evening, and yet he felt as though he'd had something more. Because if his BAC was at .0blood, surely he wouldn't be thinking that he could maybe accidentally kiss her neck as well. Perhaps for a while. Say, at least until he'd committed the taste of her skin to his memory and categorized every sensitive spot and what sound she would make as he located each one.

His eyes widened. Uh oh. 

He swallowed hard as she pulled away. He kept his Doctor-and-Companion smile plastered to his face--for her viewing pleasure. She turned from him and walked down the corridor to her room, leaving him staring after her until he was absolutely certain she was not coming back.

Then he fumbled for his pocket and pulled the flower out, regarding it as one might regard a hand grenade. 

"I distinctly remember firmly requesting either chicken or fish, no aphrodisiacs," he growled. He raced off to his lab, whipped his glasses on, and analyzed the flower with his spectrometer. He recognized the spectral lines immediately. "Oh, Rassilon's coatrack," he grumbled. It wasn't _just_ an aphrodisiac. It was a rather potent one. "'Don't forget to display these in your rooms as a token of our friendship,' indeed," he grumbled further. "More like as a token of our wish that you throw yourself testes-first at your companion." He sighed.

He thought. Thought thought thought.

There wasn't much he could do. There was only one way to go about this: he was going to have to deflower Rose, and hope that helped. 

He smacked his forehead, wincing inwardly at his double-entendre. "Don't think," he ordered himself. "Really. Don't."

***

The Doctor knocked cats a lot, but for all that he did, the little hairball machines had _stealth._ Something he currently lacked, which he decided to blame on his systems being out of whack.

Such were his thoughts as he knocked over Rose's iron fireplace tools while scrambling through the dark (which he could see in, thank-you-very-much) to her mantle, startling her awake.

"Doctor?"

"Shhh, Rose, sorry, sleep now--I just need--" he finished juggling the fireplace tools back into their former positions and took the flower from her mantle. "This." He held it up briefly--see, no big deal, I'm just taking this. Yeah.

She sat up, squinting.

The Doctor cut his eyes away quickly when he realized that he could not immediately spot any garment adorning her shoulders. She had her blanket clutched to her chest. He not-so-subtly cupped his hand beside his eye, blocking her from his peripheral vision like a horse with blinders on.

"Why d'ya need that?"

"Ah, yes, um. I just remembered! Something...about allergies! Alien allergenic plants. If you're exposed to this too long you'll sneeze so hard your eyes will pop." He grinned maniacally. "Sweet dreams!" He spun on his heel to leave the room.

His all-too-keen ears picked up on the sound of the bedsheets rustling behind him, even over the noise of his hasty departure. He didn't turn around. "No no no! Don't get out of bed! It's okay, I have what I need!" That was a lot of exclamation points, that.

He pulled her door shut behind him quickly and firmly, and heard her practically run into it; she'd been closer on his heels than he'd thought. He cringed, but didn't look back. He was starting to feel very...untrustworthy. He had to seclude himself. Now.

He was halfway down the hallway already when she poked her head out of her room. "Doctor? You all right?"

"Fine!" he yelled back, trying to maintain an air of cheerfulness. He was afraid that if he turned around and saw her in whatever flimsy thing she'd chosen to wear to bed....

He summoned every ounce of willpower he could and raced to his quarters, locking his door behind him and closing his eyes, breathing fast.

***

The TARDIS was kind enough to bring him the books and tools he requested. There was only so much he could do without a sterile lab, but needs must.

The results were not what he wanted.

Yes, he did recognize this aphrodisiac--but unfortunately it had been hybridized. He didn't have an immediate antidote for this.

He sighed as he removed his glasses and bonelessly laid them aside. He slouched in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. This constituted a real problem. Rose would suffer, _he_ would suffer, he didn't even want to...didn't even...well, very often. He didn't often handle these matters by himself, much less with anyone else. Alone maybe once a year, or every few months if he was having a particularly randy year for some reason. But right now the aphrodisiac was gaining momentum in his bloodstream, amping up in intensity. And he was definitely beginning to react to it: he had graduated from not-so-prudish thoughts to perspiring lightly, his pulses racing, a slow, urgent heat stirring in him. He felt like he'd been given a shot of adrenaline large enough to kill a horse (which was still only about a quarter of what was needed to fell a Time Lord). 

He refused to give in to the urge to take care of matters himself. He knew how aphrodisiacs worked; that would only make it worse. 

His brow furrowed in concern. Maybe he should warn Rose?

His mind began to venture dangerously down that path, and he realized that there was absolutely no way he could allow himself anywhere near her right now, especially if she was as worked up as he assumed she must be. She was not, after all, a Time Lord.

He found just enough chivalry left within him to take pity on her for her current condition.

This was up to him. He had to overcome this and fix it. Save her, as it were. And himself...from making a terrible, terrible mistake. 

The Doctor took a deep breath and went inward to begin the very slow and tedious process of manually metabolizing the unwanted intruder out of his system.

It was like clipping a lawn with toenail clippers.

***

The serenity of being alone to work this problem out lasted for almost exactly thirty more minutes. Then the Doctor heard a footstep outside his door, a tentative shuffling in the TARDIS corridor.

Then, a small voice, colored by a familiar and warming accent. "Doctor?"

He stayed seated at his desk, one elbow slung over the back, the other planted on his desktop as he bit his thumbnail, trying to ground himself. He didn't reply.

A soft knock. "Doctor? You in there?"

There we go; a ready solution. He would just pretend he wasn't in. The TARDIS was enormous, after all--he could be anywhere.

A sound whose accompanying visual could be only one thing: Rose Tyler pressing herself bodily against the door of his bedroom. "Dooctorrrrr."

He bit down harder on his thumbnail, vividly imagining throwing his door open, grabbing her, and pressing her back into his mattress without ceremony. In a nice, consensual manner, of course.

This had escalated from Rassilon's coatrack to Rassilon's grandmother's knickers, because he was becoming quite aroused at the idea of giving in. So tempting....

Rassilon's grandmothers knickers, though. Probably he should be thinking about those. Something to take the edge off. Jackie in Rassilon's grandmother's knickers?

He raked both hands back through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make that image work.

"Think I know what you were really doing in my room earlier, Doctor," Rose confided through the door. "I think that flower thing is some type of...well. You know." He heard her nails scratch lightly down the door, and he shivered as though she'd run them across his scalp. "Is it affecting you?"

How it was affecting him had grown quite visible, unfortunately, quite some time ago. He pulled his hair lightly, still vowing he wouldn't give in. This was base, it was primal, it was beneath him.

It was aching, it was urgent. It was Rose Tyler. It would be so good.

_Stop. Stop stop stop._

"I think you're hiding from me," she teased, but then her voice changed abruptly, became tender. "You don't have to."

He pressed the heels of his hands over his ears and counted slowly to a thousand in Gallifreyan. When he had finished, he removed his hands from his ears.

Silence.

The Doctor took the opportunity to strip down quickly and slide into his bed, using his sonic to turn off the overhead light. Darkness filled the room and he scrunched down against his pillows, pulling his blankets tightly around himself. Sleep. He needed sleep. Once he'd woken up again, he would have metabolized the interfering substance out of his system most of the way, and then he could help Rose. The best thing he could do for her until then, however, was stay away from her.

He writhed in the sheets, still uncomfortably aroused, unable to will it away. He punched his pillow in frustration and tossed and turned, trying to find a position in which he could relax. 

Sex. Sex was relaxing. An image of Rose above him--crying out in ecstasy while he drove himself to completion inside her--materialized vividly in his mind before he could do anything to stop it. He saw them grasping each other desperately as they came together, then collapsed into a satisfied heap and fell sleep in each others arms. It was surprisingly easy to imagine, considering how long it had been for him.

He groaned softly and curled into a fetal position, pulling his sheets over his head. "I hate you," he said to his lap.

He tried to slow his breathing for several minutes, focusing on it as he might during meditation. And then...then he heard something. A jiggling at his doorknob, and a familiar noise....

His eyes flew wide open under the covers. "Oh that is _it,_ I'm retiring. I've gone senile," he berated himself, filled simultaneously with relief and horror: he had a backup sonic, and he'd shown Rose where to find it in case of an emergency. She was definitely having an emergency now--of an entirely different nature than he'd meant--and she had found the sonic. He had forgotten all about it.

The latch released. The Doctor felt the heat of fear prickle through him, almost as though an intruder had entered his room rather than the companion he spent every day pretending he wasn't besotted with. He froze completely, thinking for a moment as a child would: maybe if he stayed very, very still and quiet, she wouldn't see him and she'd go away.

He heard her soft footsteps as she made her way across the carpeting to the side of his bed. He felt her hovering, staring at the lump of him under the covers. "Doctor?" There was hesitancy in her voice, along with a desperation he hadn't expected. It wasn't an I-want-to-shag-you tone of desperation; it was an I-need-help tone. 

Quick as a flash, the Doctor pulled the covers down and looked at her standing beside the bed. Her eyes were wide and tearful; she looked terrified.

"Rose." The Doctor sat bolt upright, the blanket sliding from his upper body and pooling in his lap, forgotten. He felt almost normal again, as though this shock had sobered him from the aphrodisiac's effect. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"

She was fidgeting with the cuffs of a long-sleeved shirt. "It's too much," she whispered. "I've been fighting it, but it--it sort of hurts, Doctor. I don't know how to describe it." Even in the dark he could see the heat of her blush. "I didn't want to bother you--I--I tried not to, but--I mean, I won't--"

"Come here." He held out one arm for her, and she climbed quickly onto his bed and leaned against him. He tightened his arm around her and used his free hand to grasp her chin and tilt her face up to his. He sighed, guilt flooding through him when he saw that she was struggling with the same things he was: arousal, fear of taking things too far. How could he have thought she'd feel otherwise?

Well, because she wasn't a Time Lord. But then, Rose was never an ordinary human under any circumstances. 

"I'll get it figured out," he reassured her. His fingertips grazed her cheek as he moved to tuck her hair behind her ear, and she shivered, her eyes darkening. He tried to look away from her face but found that he couldn't. He'd felt that shiver all the way through him. Her innocent, troubled face looking up at him in the shadows--only a modicum of light shining in from the hallway--filled him with a darkness and a desire that he very much feared.

He felt her hand come lightly to rest on his chest, and he nearly jumped away from the sheer surprise of it, but he managed to do no more than flinch and look at her questioningly, almost daring her to invite him further. He twitched under the blanket at the idea that she might do just that.

Her gaze fell to his lips, the tip of her thumbnail scratching so lightly over his chest that he might have been imagining it, and he was suddenly at the point of no return--any moment now he was going to pin her to the bed and beg her to forgive him even while his body contradicted his words.

She leaned in a bit closer to him and he heard her swallow hard. He tilted his head ever so slightly, close enough now to feel her blonde locks brush the side of his face. They nosed each other gently, breath mingling, and he brought his hand to the back of her neck, easing her closer and capturing her lips in a slow, powerful kiss that set both of their heads spinning and quickened their breath. The Doctor was so unbearably hard he doubted there was much danger of this progressing--he'd never make it that far.

A heavy breath from Rose as they gently parted reinforced this belief, and then, gods, her hand dropped to his lap and he could feel the heat of her palm through the sheet as she checked to see if his urgency mirrored her own--and their ultimate taboo was broken, like a finishing line they'd always been sprinting toward. He groaned into her mouth as she moved to straddle him with his encouragement, not having the presence of mind to censor himself. He cupped her bottom and pulled her tightly against him as she licked at his lips and sucked his tongue in a way that was a blatant precursor of things to come (again no pun intended, but the Doctor was far past considering the more amusing aspects of language). She rocked once against him, the friction a heavenly forgotten thing that he was rediscovering in a hurry, and he never wanted it to stop, the heat in him narrowing to a pleasurable point of unbearable focus, and he started to deepen their kiss, pressing down on the tops of her thighs as he returned the distraction--

and then a loud buzzing erupted, a thrumming against his ribs as though they had an electric fence between them, and they both jumped as though they'd been shot. Rose cried out, which unfortunately meant her lips had separated from his, and her hands flew like startled birds in the air as her brain tried to communicate to her just what she should do with them that didn't involve touching and stroking the Doctor. 

Ultimately, after five seconds that felt like ten minutes, she managed to get one hand inside her hoodie pocket and used it to retrieve her cell phone so delicately that it may have been a vile piece of trash. She stared at the name on the screen. "Marvenka," she said, her surprised eyes meeting his.

"Give it here," he said automatically, pulling the phone from her hand brusquely and tapping the screen, placing it to his ear as Rose moved quickly off his lap. "What?" he asked gruffly. "I think you know why I'm answering my companion's phone, Orntha," he snapped. "Same reason you're calling from your bride's. She's in my bedroom. ...Yeah, I figured you did. ...What, I-yes, it is, it really _really_ is." His features softened slightly. "Oh. Yes, well. Okay, okay, calm down--really, deep breaths. Not your fault. Sorry, it's just...." he shut his eyes and ran a hand back and forth through his messy fringe. "Thanks, Orntha. We'll be right there."

Rose's expression was openly curious and anxious as he handed her phone back to her. "What was that about?" She licked her lips nervously.

"They have some sort of antidote. They want us to come back for a bit to dispense it to us. It was a mix-up...the flowers were meant for...well. A different sort of party," he mumbled. "The deliveries were bungled."

They sat for a moment, neither moving, Rose lost in thought and the Doctor looking away from her. He heaved a sigh that Rose felt she understood; it was very, very difficult to think of moving from the bed. Her hand crept across the duvet to bridge the space between them, and met his hand on its way back to her. Their fingers intertwined. He glanced sidelong at her. After a moment he couldn't sustain eye contact and his focus flickered back and forth from her features to the duvet in a flutter of guilt and apology.

He released her hand, suddenly and decisively, and she forced herself to look away from him; he was in nothing but his pants, and she didn't want to get a very good view of that just now, having woken enough from the fog of her arousal to feel ashamed for groping at him. She felt a hollow, empty sadness creeping over her, and she shook her head and told herself to pull it together.

Hormones. Hormones crashing around willy-nilly in her system; that's all it was. She tried not to pay any attention to the sound of the Doctor's trousers sliding back on, then his arms passing through the sleeves of his oxford. She pressed her thighs together, wondering if he always slept in his pants and nothing more.

She forced herself to breathe deeply, as the Doctor had instructed Orntha to do.

The Doctor passed around the foot of his bed, redoing a button at his cuff. "Come," he said gently but tiredly, not really looking at her, and Rose followed him from the room.

***

It was the strangest after-wedding-party ever, that was for certain, the Doctor reflected. He was trying very hard to be amused about all of it.

He felt the ghost of his Ninth self sticking his tongue out at him, laughing in that annoying Northern accent with a perfect told-you-so look on his smug face. His smug, daft, 80% ears face. 

_Have I_ always _been a complete knob?_ the Doctor wondered.

He folded his arms, regarding the chaotic scene before him. Many of the wedding guests from earlier were milling about the hotel lobby, where a sort of impromptu triage had been set up. Everyone looked overwhelmed and disheveled amidst the old-world furnishings and heavy brocade. Orntha _herself_ was disheveled, her purple skin flushed in what was surely embarrassment no matter what the color. She was dressed in a silky blue dressing gown, bits of some fancy white pyjamas or frothy lingerie just visible underneath. She was hugging herself tightly, her posture stiff. Her eyes were wide and apologetic. "Marvenka is mortified. We're both mortified. I don't know what I can do to apologize." She regarded Rose. "Those flowers were meant for a different kind of event--we got a frantic call from the delivery company shortly after everyone left and we're giving them a what-for, I absolutely promise, I've already called my lawyer...." her voice was wavering and she looked dangerously close to tears.

"Hey hey, there now," the Doctor said, grasping her gently by the shoulders and ducking slightly to meet her eyes earnestly. "It's been a traumatizing evening for all of us, but not your fault. This should be the happiest day of your life, yeah? Forget about it. We're all getting treatment. No one holds you personally responsible." He nodded around the room to indicate the subtly calming crowd.

Rose watched this quiet exchange, a painful affection twisting inside of her as she watched the way the Doctor was handling the situation.

"It's not over, though," Orntha protested. "Coming down is...well, it's unpleasant, we've been told. The antidote isn't perfect. The aphrodisiac is meant to be expelled from your system via...other means." Her voice had grown very quiet, and she was unable to look at either of them directly.

Rose was blushing, and the Doctor was mortified to realize that he'd taken a few moments too long in examining the attractiveness of the pink flush across her skin, especially there along the top swell of her chest. He was very, very glad he'd worn his coat, or Orntha would be getting the wrong idea right about now. He drew a steadying breath through his nose and returned his attention to their mortified friend. "We'll be fine." He squeezed her upper arms briefly, then grabbed Rose's hand and pulled her across the floor without further delay so they could queue for the antidote.

_***_  


When they'd arrived back at the TARDIS, Rose made her way pathetically to the jump seat and crawled onto it, hugging her knees. She felt knackered, she said. She looked a bit ashen.

The Doctor set about putting them into the vortex, but he was moving slowly, considering Rose with worried eyes. He felt a bit drained himself, but nothing a cup of tea probably couldn't cure. She looked as though she could sleep for a week.

The silence stretched out.

"Well, that was intense," Rose said around an enormous yawn. "Reckon it's a good thing Orntha called when she did." She wiggled her toes in her trainers.

"Mm," the Doctor said noncommittally. He wasn't looking at her, busy punching some buttons.

"Quite dangerous, a mix-up like that with the flowers," she went on. "That was very careless. Could destroy friendships like that, yeah?"

His gaze flicked over to her, then just as quickly away. He bowed his head and became very fixated on something.

Finally Rose stopped trying to feel him out and announced quietly that she was going to watch some movies in the media room. If it was going to be awkward between them for a while, then so be it. In the meantime she at least had Daniel Craig to look at, even if he wasn't half as attractive as the Doctor. He'd work in a pinch.

She stood from the jump seat, already mentally taking her place on the couch in the media room. She was so exhausted she almost wondered if she'd make it there.

_***_

Rose was surprised, to say the very least, when the door eased open about an hour later and the Doctor poked his head in. She looked up at him.

"Just checking. Brought you some tea," he said.

She smiled. "Thanks. Join me?"

He nudged the door open further, nodding, and she was pleased to see he'd already had two cups in hand. He set them down on the coffee table, and just as she was about to swing her legs down from the couch he caught her feet and lifted them, slipping himself under them and then replacing them in his lap. He was blase about all of it, and, as if it was nothing, he placed his hand on her right knee and squeezed it gently through the blanket even as he focused on the television.

Rose diverted her eyes back to the TV, getting comfy. After a while, she realized that she was being stared at, and she looked over to see a set of enormous, concerned puppy eyes on her. "Are you all right?"

"Sure m'all right. Why?"

"You're very ashen."

She shivered and his brow knit. He leaned closer and put the back of his hand against her forehead. "You've a slight fever." 

He surprised her; rather than pull back, he stayed where he was, resting his upper half on her lower body. He folded his hands on her belly and rested his chin on them, sighing as he gazed at her. "Are we all right?"

Rose felt a strange pang when he asked, a disbelief and surreality so clear it was breathtaking. This was the exact opposite of the Doctor's M.O.--this was what he didn't do. He didn't discuss feelings. She studied his eyes and nodded, slowly but certainly, and raised her hand to play softly with his fringe. He gave her a crooked smile as she did it. "Fine by me. You?"

"Just fine."

Rose licked her lips, a new sensation creeping through her at the feeling of him resting on her, his soft hair under her fingertips. And then, suddenly, her body spasmed and she made a face, all her features drawing together in pain.

"Rose?!?" The Doctor crawled over her, his knees on either side of her, sinking into the sofa. "What's wrong?"

Her features smoothed out, but she was breathing a bit faster. "Dunno. Cramp. Just that antidote surely." She did it again suddenly, flexing and writhing briefly, and came to rest, her chest rising and falling rapidly. 

The Doctor lay down quickly beside her, insinuating himself in the space between her body and the back of the couch, and pulled her close, rubbing her arms and her back. Gradually her breathing slowed, and she realized the Doctor was whispering something, almost chanting it.

"Sorry sorry sorry, I'm so sorry...."

Now her brow furrowed. "What? Why're _you_ sorry Doctor?"

"It didn't occur to me that some type of contact--even limited--will probably make the come-down easier. Stupid, very stupid."

She was becoming quite relaxed, in fact, as he rubbed her. Very drowsy. Before she knew it, she'd dropped off.

_***_

When she came to what felt like ages later, the Doctor was still beside her, and still awake. He had her left hand in his right and was studying it intently.

"What're you doing?"

He looked up at her, then back again. "Thinking about that human expression. The one about knowing someone as well as the back of your own hand. Think I know yours better than my own, actually--at least it doesn't change every so often."

She smiled, then stretched a bit. "I feel a little better. Is it over?"

He nodded, sliding up so he was at face level with her, lifting his head up enough to prop himself up on his elbow and cradle his head in his hand. "Yes. All metabolized." 

He smiled mischievously, the signature look that let her know he was about to try to get away with something, and he leaned forward enough to kiss her forehead. "Yup. Temperature's down."

Rose looked at him carefully, evaluating him, her mind racing. "Mine, yes. Yours?"

"Mine's fine." 

She continued to meet his gaze, and his expression became the very picture of confusion.

She wrapped his tie around her hand and pulled him closer, pressing her lips against his for a moment, then drew back again, blushing a little.

He looked befuddled. "It should be over by now, should've metabolized out of both of our systems," he mumbled, almost to himself, his eyes doing that glazed-over-and-calculating-thing.

"It did." Rose toyed with the buttons of his oxford, and the look in his eyes was replaced by one of understanding. 

He leaned in and began the kiss this time, coaxing her mouth open by breathing warmly against her lips, hinting.

The TV was still droning low in the background. The light in the media room was extremely dim, the TARDIS quiet around them. The predominant sound was that of their lips meeting, parting again as they traded off gasping for air. Rose made a sound deep in her throat as the Doctor's hand slid down her side and over her thigh; she'd changed into her pyjama shorts when the TARDIS had thoughtfully left them in the media room for her. His hand circled around and she felt just the tip of his index finger curl under the hem of her shorts, and she whimpered. Her body strained toward his, brushing against him enough to realize that even if he had metabolized the aphrodisiac out, he was still losing control. 

He broke the kiss off and regarded her, his eyes dark, and she bit her lip, matching the intensity of the look he was giving her. Wherever this was headed, Rose thought, she was going to show him fulfillment if it killed her.

A smile twitched at the side of his mouth, but never fully blossomed, as though he'd read her mind. Perhaps he had. He sobered and pressed the index and middle finger of his left hand further under the edge of her shorts, looking so focused that it was not difficult for Rose to imagine that this must be the face he would make if he were to ease himself into her. 

The thought made her gasp, sent a shock of arousal through her, and when his fingers brushed her through her knickers, they slid easily through her wetness. He looked at her knowingly, a glint in his eyes, and Rose cried out softly, hips bucking forward gently as he pressed his thumb against her clit from the outside of her shorts. 

The Doctor closed his eyes, overwhelmed at her response and trying to regain some control over his own. The aphrodisiac was definitely gone, at this point--so why did he feel just as desperate as before?

He had frozen for a second, but now resumed his attention, circling his thumb over the front of her shorts. 

Rose tensed, panting hard, and he realized with amazement that she was very, very close to coming. And he was aching for more of the friction he'd had a preview of the night before. 

He withdrew his hand, quick as lightning, and slid his hand down, putting pressure behind her knee so she would lift her leg around his waist. He got into position above her and rested his forehead against hers even as he began a slow, urgent rocking of his hips. 

Rose gasped, her hands going to his shoulders. 

"Do you want this?" he asked, his voice tight, his eyes pleading, desperate for her to say yes. 

"Y-yes!" Rose cried, her leg tightening around his waist. She cried out as she came, clinging to him, and he very nearly lost it in his pants. He grit his teeth, closing his eyes, and gently rocked her through it, curling his hands under her shoulders and showering her face with kisses. 

As soon as her breath began to normalize, she was wiggling in a way he knew meant that she wanted him to raise up, so he did, and her hands went to his fly, where she undid his button and brought the zipper down, sliding her hand inside to grasp him. He in turn grasped her wrist quickly and shook his head, his expression pained with need. "Can I--inside you--please--"

She nodded rapidly and they set about undressing each other as swiftly as they could. He tugged her pyjama shorts and knickers down her hips as she slipped the buttons of his shirt open and helped him with his trousers.

They had shifted positions during the whole business, and the Doctor was now sitting upright on the sofa, naked, a little shy but not overly so as he pulled her closer and urged her onto his lap, his touch somehow just as coaxing and sweet as insistent. 

She positioned herself over his lap on her knees, a bit unstable on the sofa. His hands stroked her gently, his thumbs rolling over the points of her hips, and she gripped him and slid forward and down in a long, torturous first stroke, and the Doctor didn't quite manage to stifle a grunt of pleasure when he was seated in her to the hilt. She felt him twitch inside her, and he expelled a noisy breath it seemed he must have been holding for ages, then leaned back into the sofa a bit more and bucked his hips gently, encouraging her to move.

In short order he had both arms wrapped around her waist, her soft abdomen flexing against his, both of them beginning to perspire lightly as their pace grew frenzied, his thrusts growing sharper, and they both began to cry out again and again with each contact; it was too good, they wanted more, needed more, harder faster deeper, and they never wanted it to end. Every moment the pleasure volleying back and forth between them, communicated in breath and heated stares, grew more and more overwhelming, and it was difficult to imagine how high the pinnacle of their pleasure might go.

The Doctor leaned forward and up, shifting her slightly, and began laying soft kisses between her breasts, his breath flowing pleasantly over her skin. His tongue traced feather-light patterns on her breast bone.

Rose was beginning to tremble, her sensitivity mounting; she was barely holding back, realizing that the Doctor was shortly going to climax inside her. She wanted to feel and see every bit of it. She pushed him gently back from her chest and waited until he looked in her eyes, his mouth ajar with pleasure, his eyes almost sad with it, and she closed the distance between them to soothe him with a loving kiss, knowing anything he was feeling emotionally would be heightened at the moment of orgasm, and not wanting him to be alone. She kissed him again and again and he opened to her each time, gently curling of the tip of his tongue against the roof of her mouth 

Finally, she hovered with her lips barely brushing his, and whispered into his mouth. "Come."

He kissed her once more and then pulled back as their rhythm grew more purposeful and he knew he only had seconds left; everything was tightening all through him, ready to break and spill, and he slid his hands into her hair and held her like that as he thrust sharply up once, twice more, and she met him just as hard. "Fuck," he gasped, hips locking. His eyes slammed shut, his breath coming broken and hard with a series of soft moans interspersed as he came so intensely every other thought left him. Rose watched, her nails digging into his shoulders as she took in his expression, and her orgasm crashed violently through her as a result of the visual impact of his. She rocked her hips slowly against each of his warm pulses, drawing it out, felt his body shiver, listened to him gasp like he might never breathe again after this. Finally, the muscles of his abdomen relaxed. His eyes fluttered open, tired and sated, and he licked his dry lips as Rose came to a rest on him, keeping him inside.

They stayed as they were, each examining the others expression in the comfortable silence that stretched out between them.

"That was amazing," Rose finally said, quietly, smiling shyly at him as her hair fell into her face.

He brushed her hair back and tilted her chin up. He nodded and smiled, content. "Yes, it was. You are."

She curled against his chest, and he stroked her hair slowly, his arm going around her. After a few minutes he whispered into her hair, "Do you want to go to bed?"

She nodded, warm and comfortable, thrilled with the idea that he might share said bed with her.

He did, and they did sleep, but at least three different times over the course of the night, one woke the other and they made love, both vigorously and tenderly. By the time they got out of bed the following day, they were quite safe from any aphrodisiac hangover.

The Doctor sent Marvenka and Orntha an enormous gift basket full of fruits and chocolate a day later, with a little tag on it that read, "Good omens."


End file.
